


Miku and the Youkai

by GrayVoice



Category: Vocaloid
Genre: F/F, Folklore, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Modern Era, Romance, Supernatural Elements, Tokyo (City)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26202739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrayVoice/pseuds/GrayVoice
Summary: Even as an adult in modern-day Tokyo, Miku still believes in fairy tales—but she never expected one their creatures to appear before her eyes, let alone grant her wishes. Stranger still is how this pink-haired youkai is enchanting in a way that has nothing to do with magic. Miku/Luka, negitoro.
Relationships: Hatsune Miku/Megurine Luka
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46





	1. Part 1

Although Miku never really seen a _youkai_ with her own eyes, she'd always believed, in her heart of hearts, that they were real.

It was that innermost child of hers that said so, perhaps—the part that still believed the tales her grandmother had told. That part of her that could still sit wide-eyed and open-mouthed before the old woman as she spoke with alarm and emotion from her _tatami,_ bathed in the flickering light of an oil lamp.

Yes, Miku remembered grandmother telling that tale of the samurai who pursued a mysterious woman in the night, only to turn a corner a find naught but a fox eying him past the crossroads; of the kind-hearted daughter who walked after a beggar, only to find a hideous slit-mouth woman up close; and of the frequenter of Yoshiwara, that Red-Light District of old Tokyo, who happened upon the one brothel in the city that was host to a long-neck monster.

Much as Miku's parents told her to pay no heed to those tales, and much as modern science told her to disregard them entirely, there was always a certain lingering wonder within her that said maybe—just maybe—it was human eyes, not human imagination, that had come up with those stories. She wondered if perhaps there was some truth to them that the real world simply hadn't caught up to yet, lost as it was in its demand for proof and deluge of obvious lies.

She wondered, most of all, why the tales of the _youkai_ had all seemed to stop as soon as the modern day had reared its head.

No doubt most would have said it was because cameras had replaced the fancy of ink brush and paper. But not Miku.

No, Miku, on the other hand, said that it was because the modern day had lost sight of what they could not tear down and build up.

* * *

Or, she said as much to herself, when she felt brave enough.

At that moment, bowing before her department head alongside the rest of her office's team, Miku said nothing at all, so as not to shatter the profundity of the expected apology. Breaking rhythm would just as easily break her access to a paycheck, she knew.

“We're terribly sorry! We're terribly sorry!” her team lead shouted out for her.

The poor lad, a company senior named Kaito, chanted the apologies with such genuine zeal that Miku nearly forgot how little enthusiasm he applied to his day job.

It was especially true of the last attempt at a project Kaito had supposedly been heading up: a presentation to company heads who had been seeking input on the direction for a marketing campaign. Of course, the attempt had failed—and quite miserably, at that—as the presentation Kaito had supposedly worked to assemble turned out to be work from a cluster of unenthused, poorly led junior staff who'd tried to piece together yet another uninspiring slide show between working on their more immediate deliverables.

“Truly! It won't happen again! I promise it!”

Even so, still Kaito was going through the motions of deeply felt shame, because of course the department head he was apologizing to had taken the brunt of the active blame for not producing something the company heads had appreciated (on its own an intolerable offense). What was more, because this was a repeat instance of earning board members' disapproval, the discretion was all the more unacceptable.

Yet, the collective show of apology had apparently won over their department head. He gave a simple, slow nod, barely visible to Miku as she kept her head perpendicular to the ground, and set his steaming-hot tea aside on his desk.

“Yes, yes, that's all well and good. Just get back to work, will you? We can worry about it when the next presentation comes up.”

It was mere moments until the sober self-flagellation gave way to idle chatter, the whole team passing back out through the hallway. Gray walls, photos of prestigious books published by the company, and on occasion their accompanying authors, passed Miku by as she shuffled back to the desk.

Thankfully, though, she noted Rin keeping pace with her, apparently not interested in taking this opportunity to flirt her way into Kaito's higher favors.

“I'd say that could have gone worse,” she said.

“It could have gone _faster_ ,” Miku retorted. “Seriously, every second I'm not in that office is a good one.”

“Hey, at least it gets us away from our desks.” Rin stretched her arms over her blonde bob as she she walked on. After loudly cracking her shoulders, she popped her phone into her hand and rolled her eyes at the screen. “Of freakin' course. It's not even two hours after lunch yet.”

“At least there's time left to get work done, right?” Miku offered. She hoped the tinge of optimism in her voice would at least set the atmosphere lighter.

But Rin's ensuing groan proved the attempt failed completely. “God, Miku, again with your by-the-book crap. Don't tell me you actually care all that much about...” Her unenthused pout morphed slowly into a look of absent confusion. “What book were you even on the campaign for now?”

“ _Psychology Miracles and You: Internet Edition_ ,” Miku answered with a sigh.

“See? How do you even remember a title like that? I hear it, and right away I wanna fall asleep!”

“It's my job. I may as well put some effort into it.”

“Put effort into the things that count. That's what keeps me going.”

Arriving at their desks, the two plopped into their thinly padded swivel chairs. Again Rin stretched up her arms in a long, protracted motion as Miku promptly opened up her laptop.

“Why are you so desperate for this day to be over, anyway?” Miku asked.

Cracking her neck, Rin at last lifted the lid on her own computer.

“I mean, aside from the fact that I won't be at work,” she said, “there's also this mixer I got invited to.”

A cold, icy chill swept through Miku as she heard the word. Rin seemed to head off to mixers more often than she went grocery shopping, and the few times Miku had attended, she ended up on her own, being talked up by some guy whose cologne threatened to melt her eyebrows off.

Not that Rin had picked up on any of that. Since she was too busy flirting with all the princely types that, for reasons beyond Miku's understanding, she seemed to reciprocate interest in.

“You should come, too!” Rin said excitedly. “It'll be _so_ much fun!”

Eyes on her laptop screen, Miku grimaced. “I think I'll pass.”

“Oh, because I'm sure you have big, pressing plans, right? Some date lined up?”

“Big plans, yes. Date? No.”

“I knew it!” Rin exclaimed. “See, why do ya think I'm always inviting you to these mixers?”

“I literally just said I have big plans,” Miku groaned out.

“C'mon, they can't be that big. Whatever it is, just shuffle it around. Please?”

She fixed those enormous doe eyes on Miku, the same eyes that had been steadily wearing down Kaito's defenses and—Miku had to admit—had come dangerously close in the past to having the same effect on her.

But Miku had long since come to accept that Rin would never look at her the way she looked at Kaito—or, really, any other man—meaning there was nothing to be gained by giving in. Remembering that, it became far easier to hold firm.

“Sorry. Not budging.” Hoping to end the conversation, Miku promptly turned and began clacking away at her keyboard. Even as she did so, though, she had to ignore a lingering stare on her face.

“Well, what _are_ these 'big plans' anyway?”

“Just the usual,” Miku curtly replied.

“The usual?” Rin repeated.

“Yup.” Taking a moment to brush her teal hair over her shoulder, Miku quickly returned to typing. “I'll just be taking a nice, relaxing walk to the Bamboo Grove.”

* * *

It wasn't until after dark that Miku actually arrived at the Bamboo Grove, its elegant neon sign already flickering against the dim of the city and crowds bustling by its streetside entrance. It was a clever name, Miku had always thought: “Bamboo Grove,” like the forest Princess Kaguya had been found in, like the Akutagawa story, for a bar of all things.

Against her own wishes—and especially Rin's—Miku had ended up pulling overtime that evening, staying behind to work through the figures on a different book's campaign. Somehow, the regret and frustration at staying behind late weighed more heavily on her that night, perhaps made more burdensome by the rigmarole of that afternoon's humiliating “apology.” A part of her even regretted not taking Rin's invitation, if only so that she could bolt to the elevator as quickly as the blonde had once the clock hit 5.

But, no matter, she decided. In any case, she was back at her favorite bar now.

She strode through the heavy sliding door and took a seat at the front bar, where below the red, _kanji_ -laden electric lanterns, the deep mahogany surface of the countertop glistened beneath the drinks set aside by the night's chattering patrons. Cigarette smoke wafted through the air, melding, somehow, with the quiet _koto_ music playing through the speaker setup installed on the back wall. Soft as the songs were, they still managed to absorb Miku into a soundscape separate from the roaring bustle of the Tokyo streets just outside the sliding doors.

Behind the bar, a man with purple hair and a red waist apron stood shaking a silver cocktail shaker. As Miku sat down, off to the side, he took note of her and smiled.

“Well, well! And here I thought you'd skipped out on me tonight.”

“Not this week, Gakupo,” Miku said as she settled onto the wooden stool.

“I know that tone of voice,” the bartender said. He turned to the liquor set behind him, perusing the collection with an outstretched, searching finger. “It's a _shochu_ kind of evening, isn't it?”

“Yup. Something top-shelf. On the rocks.”

The variety of liquor Gakupo chose was rich, smooth—like silver gliding down Miku's throat. She never liked admitting it to herself, but the infusion of alcohol was one she deeply needed after all the commotion of that day. In a wave, the buzz of the _shochu_ crept up on her, and tenderly it lifted a joyful sense of ease to front of her mind like a rising tide bringing lily pads closer to shore.

But, fortunately for Miku's peace of mind, it was never just the booze that gave her a sense of calm at the Bamboo Grove. It was, of course, the atmosphere of the place, the ambiance that kept her returning. She loved the still, the quiet, the tasteful theme of old Japan that no other bar seemed willing to imitate even among the glut of gimmick bars that clogged Tokyo. Beyond the _koto_ music and the hanging lanterns, there were old watercolor paintings lining the walls, vases and fans carefully set along counters, an elegant folding screen set near the entrance to the restroom.

Cliched as it was to say, being here felt like living out one of her old fairy tales.

She was around halfway into her glass of _shochu_ when she finally decided to take note of this evening's crowd. Small as it always was, the clientele were part of the appeal for being at the Bamboo Grove for Miku. Tonight, too, the guests were generally there solo, each lost in their own world of old Japan being kept in motion by the buzz of their drinks.

Most looked to be in the same boat as Miku: office formal wear, tired faces, a few engaging in crosstalk with the neighbors fate had put them beside.

In general. But...

There was one who stood out, who caught Miku's eye like a fish grabbing a cat's attention. Unlike the other women in blazers and pencil skirts, this patron sported an elegant evening dress in a deep, alluring violet that blending perfectly with her long coral-pink hair and ruby red lips. The garment clung to her tall, slightly toned body with only a gentle tautness, hanging off her core and holding just barely along her ample breasts. She sat at the bar, on the other end from Miku, a slender finger idly tracing circles in the condensation left behind by a previous drink.

On her face sat a warm, heavy blush, along with an expression that was flat with boredom, yet entrancing all the same.

Not to mention, based on how heavy that blush was, she was quite plainly drunk.

Perhaps more so than was healthy, if her slight swaying in her seat was anything to go by.

As Miku picked up on the woman's stupor, she snapped out of her entrancement just enough to realize she'd never seen her in the bar before. Was this her first night in here? Had their visits just never matched up? She had half a thought to ask Gakupo about it, but brushed aside the notion as she realized how much of a creep it would make her out to be. It certainly didn't help that she'd confided in Gakupo multiple times of the crushes she'd formed on various coworkers she'd ogled from afar at her office, on the train—at far too many places where she had no chance of actually landing her prize, now that she thought about it.

She had to admit, she was lingering in that same kind of attraction here. Even realizing that the other woman was thoroughly intoxicated, she found herself lost again in that tall, trim figure, the gown that accentuated her curves and offered a hint of cleavage, but did nothing to cover her shoulders and clavicle.

But she shook herself out of the daze again. This, too, wasn't a scenario where she had any chance of success. Maybe it was the alcohol she'd already imbibed, but through the long bout of staring Miku had somehow managed to miss that beside the elegantly dressed woman sat a sharply dressed man, grinning and talking up a storm.

Sighing, Miku turned back to her own drink, her own little fantasy. Oh, well. It wasn't as if she had much of a shot anyway. She was hardly the type to try picking up girls at bars.

Assuming this gorgeously dressed, even more beautifully shaped woman would even be into girls at all.

Although—with a shifted realization, Miku had another look at the scene. Again she registered the other woman's bored expression, somewhere between sleepy and annoyed. Still the man beside her wouldn't shut up. Maybe Miku couldn't catch what he was saying, but it was apparently as interesting as watching paint dry, given the listener's total lack of enthusiasm.

In fact, as Miku looked closer, the woman was now even swatting her arm at the speaker in slow, pathetic motions, the movement dulled by who knew how much drink—her pale, shapely legs kicked at the floor, as if trying to stand but far too unsure of how they'd keep their balance.

There was a rough, horrid ugliness to it. A sheer injustice that simply couldn't be allowed to continue.

At last, Miku stood, carrying her drink along.

“Don't you think she's had enough of you?”

As she arrived and spoke before the blabbering man, he whirled about and stared up at Miku, his expression so baffled that Miku may as well have been a spirit descend from the heavens.

But he got over it just as quickly.

“Uh, 'scuse me, the lady and I are trying to have a private conversation,” he said, his complacent smirk returned.

“'The lady' seems to disagree,” Miku replied. “Look at her. You call that being an attentive listener?”

The woman continued to sway in her seat, then mumbled something under her breath in low, husky tones before groaning angrily.

The man, meanwhile, snarled.

“I'm just keeping her company,” he insisted.

“You're _bothering_ her. Would you just lay off already?”

At the added emphasis, the would-be playboy went from Miku, to his drunken target, then back to Miku. After a brief, yet tense staredown, he grumbled a few profanities, but then readjusted his suit jacket and rose from his seat with a shrug.

“Well. Can't afford to miss the last train tonight, anyway.”

Throwing some yen on the counter, he quickly strode out of the bar, disappearing from the old world fantasy and returning to the noise of the Tokyo streets.

Instantly, the drunken woman's demeanor improved. Though her swaying wouldn't let up, she kept her limbs mostly still, and much to Miku's awed surprise, a smile spread across those plump, ruby lips.

She remained silent, though. Maybe she wasn't sure what her impromptu savior wanted.

Swallowing, Miku decided to clear the air.

“Uh. I hope that wasn't too sudden or anything.” Still getting no response, she scratched the back of her head awkwardly. “You just—well, you looked like you weren't enjoying him very much.”

“I washn't.”

The woman's first words, shockingly clear for her other signs of drunkenness, nearly had Miku jumping for the ceiling in surprise. But, stabling herself, Miku decided to take it as some bit of personal progress here.

“W-Well, then... good,” she managed to get out. “I'm, uh, glad I could help.”

“You should know menfolksh like that,” the woman slurred out as she pointed at the door, “they pull thish shtuff all the time. And I don't mean shometimesh, it'sh—you don't even shee all the nonshenshe with the shoots they wear, and I can't even tell you, ya know?”

Miku frowned. Maybe the only reason those first words had been understandable was for how short the sentence had been.

“Not, uh, really?” Miku said.

“Yeah, you do, becaush _I_ have such a good time comin' to placesh, and they buy the drinksh, but you let them buy the drinksh for so long, and then they think they can act like they're gonna do somefin' at the shrine or the river or...”

She trailed off, blue eyes suddenly fixed with total fascination on various spots along the ceiling.

“Nah, shouldn't—shouldn't menshon the river,” she muttered.

“Maybe you should get home,” Miku suggested in as gentle a tone she could manage.

“I refuzhe!” the woman shouted. She pounded the bar in front of her in some sudden fury. “No, I don't—this ish _my_ night out, and I'm, I'm really jusht gonna...”

Gently, Miku held onto the woman's shoulders as she sat in the chair beside her.

“Okay, okay, that's enough,” she said. “How about just some tea?”

“Whishkey,” the woman mumbled.

“No. No whiskey. You need to hydrate.

Frantically, Miku motioned for Gakupo to come over, and the bartender gawked as he saw the other patron.

“Oh,” he said, wide-eyed and bashful. “She's...”

“Can I get two iced oolongs here?” Miku asked.

“God, she's uh, far gone, huh?” Gakupo stared at the floor as he spoke, rubbing his arm. “I'm very sorry, ma'am, I wasn't paying attention to...”

“Gakupo. Just give us the tea.”

He nodded and shuffled over to fetch a pair of glasses, returning with the promised drinks. Miku took up her glass at once and sipped at it. The woman, however, barely even registered hers being set in front of her.

“Whishkey?” she repeated as she glanced sidelong at the glass.

“Better than whiskey,” Miku said. “Would you drink it, please? It's on me.”

Frowning in annoyance at the glass, the woman nonetheless picked it up and began guzzling it down. As she drank, Miku couldn't help but let her gaze linger on her neck, long and slender, as it trembled under the rush of cool, gently caffeinated liquid.

In just a few seconds, though, she'd completely drained her glass, then slammed the empty vessel down onto the counter like a college student at a kegger.

“Washn't whishkey,” she said with a tinge of disappointment.

“No. Iced tea.” Miku sighed and sipped at her own drink through her straw. “Trust me, you needed it.”

In something between pain and relaxation, the woman let out a long groan. Clutching her head with one hand, she rattled the ice around in her glass with the other.

“Okay. Perhaps I _did_ need it.”

Sighing, Miku dared to stretch out her arm, to lay a hand on the drunkard's shoulder. Her skin was smooth—not surprisingly so, no, yet it emanated a warmth and strange, subconscious feeling of comfort that sent shivers up Miku's spine.

“Maybe, you should get home?”

The word snapped the woman's eyes opens like rubber bands.

“Home,” she repeated. Wriggling free from Miku's hand, she rose to her trembling, stiletto-clad feet. “Right. Got to get home.”

Straight away she made a dash for the door, moving with a curious, even unearthly kind of ease. Seeing it, Miku shot up from her own seat.

“Hey! Hold up!” Following behind, she turned back to the bar for a moment. “Gakupo, watch my drink, okay?”

The wooden sliding door opened and closed too quickly for Miku to see the figure disappear, but she was out into the Tokyo streets not ten seconds later, standing before oncoming crowds on either side. Glancing about, she finally spotted a glimmer of coral amid the crush of bobbing heads and dashed for the sight.

“Wait!”

At the shout, the woman turned around, stopping cold in her tracks and staring Miku down with sincere, completely lucid surprise.

“Oh,” she said. “Followed me out, did you?”

“Well, of course!” Miku said in exasperation. “Look, miss, you—well, you're just way too drunk to be walking home on your own.”

The strange woman—looking, Miku had to admit, far more stable now—only frowned harder in response.

“Am I really, would you say?”

The sheer clarity of the words, from a rich and deep voice that only minutes ago had slurred everything it spoke, sent Miku's head spiraling. Had she really sobered up so quick? From just one glass of tea? It didn't make sense.

“I mean, you seem better now, fine,” Miku admitted. “But, hey, at least let me walk you to the station? Please? I really don't think you should go all that way on your own.”

Bit by bit, the woman's ruby lips shaped into a smile—growing wider until, at last, she burst into a hearty laugh, a sound that caressed against and nestled inside Miku's ears like a cool breeze on a balmy day.

“I apologize,” the woman said. “I had not fully appreciated the kindness you would offer. Yet, if it may be of some redress, please understand that I was not one with my fullest senses moments ago.” With that long, slender finger of hers, she tapped at her lips as if in explanation. “Drink, you see, has such an effect upon me.”

“Uh.” Miku stared, somehow more dumfounded than she already was. “Yeah, I mean—it kinda does on everyone?”

Again, the woman laughed. “So it does, at that. Still, it was when I was slow of mind that you granted me comfort—and, indeed, you continue to bestow it even now. Rare, in these times, is the stranger who would grant these simple boons upon another.”

“Okay,” Miku said, “you _sure_ you're all right? First you couldn't get three words out, and now you're talking like a kabuki actor.”

“Your kindness was a boon indeed,” the woman replied.

In a single, elegant motion, she waved her arm before her face, turning her wrist about as she moved. By some sleight of hand, as she extended her arm out in front of Miku's face, she held clutched between her first two fingers—a single, barely dried out leaf.

“I hope that I may be able to repay it,” she continued, “with this as mine amends.”

Hesitantly, Miku took the leaf out from between the outstretched fingers. It was crisp, like the first leaves that feel come autumn, yet not so devoid of life that it threatened to crumble just from her touch. In total confusion, she went from the apparent token of gratitude back to its bestower, equally unsure what to make of both.

“Uh, thanks.” Miku said. “I think.”

“Should you wish me to pay a return for your kindness,” the woman said, “you have merely to crumble that leaf—for the moment you crush it to dust, I shall be there, no matter how far from this spot you have traveled. And, once I am reappeared...” The curve of her smile grew sharper, a ruby-coated blade shimmering beneath the towers of neon. “...I shall do unto you three kindnesses of your own choosing.”

“Listen, could I just walk you to the station now?” Miku tried offering again. “Like, this isn't doing much to make me feel more at ease.”

“Fear not. My return will be quite simple.” Her eyes flashing, the woman turned on her stilettos as easily as if she was sitting in a swivel chair, then took a step into the crowd. “But before I do—tell me your name.”

Briefly lost in the flare of her eyes, Miku blinked. “What?”

“Your name. Surely you have one?”

“Oh.” Again she blinked, comprehending the words but still dumbfounded by them. “I'm... Hatsune Miku.”

The eyes of the other woman flared—and, in that instant, Miku swore she saw the characters of her own name light up before her face, illuminated like the neon signs overhead.

“Lovely,” she said. “In return, I tell you: I am called Luka.”

And before her face again, the _katakana_ of that name flashed like dazzling lanterns, glistening the way a mass of sparklers would against the night sky.

Though to Miku, what stood out more was the moments wherein the lights faded—wherein, for but a moment, the phantom phosphorescence illuminated the divinely sculpted face of this strange woman, this Luka, and let the red of her lips and the ocean blue of her eyes glow like stars that dared dip too close to earth.

“Until you wish for us to meet again,” she said.

“Wait!” Miku cried out.

Yet it was too late. Swiftly, smoothly, the phantasmic figure had stepped into the crowd and vanished within the bustling figures like a droplet of water into a coursing river.

Yes, even so, Miku searched the crowds. She darted through them, shouting her cries for a return—but found no reply.

Returning to the Bamboo Grove, she clutched the strange leaf in her hand, tenderly running her fingertips along the veins and the fragile green of its blade. Sure enough, before her on the bar, the glass of _shochu_ that she'd left behind was still there, a few cubes of ice left undissolved inside.

Promptly, Miku gulped down the remainder in a few heavy sips. With a thud, she set the glass at the back of the bar.

“Well?” Gakupo said as he approached. “Everything go okay with her?”

“Yeah. Perfectly fine.” Miku eyed the strange leaf again, then stashed it away in her purse. “I think I'm going to need another _shochu_.”

“From the top shelf again?” Gakupo asked.

Miku shook her head. “The cheap stuff. And plenty of it.”


	2. Part 2

Miku stumbled home that night dazed and confused, far too much drink in her system, far too little hydration in her to stave off a pounding headache when the next morning arose. Fighting off the pain after her bedside alarm clock made her crawl out of bed, she downed half a liter of water and then stuck her head under the shower head for a couple minutes—until, at last, the pounding began to taper off.

From the fridge she grabbed a two-day-old _onigiri_ she'd saved from a convenience store and bit into it for some semblance of breakfast. It quickly filled her up, though, doing even more than the water to help her back away from the painful edge of her hangover.

Somewhat recovered, she got dressed in her regular officewear, went to apply some foundation on her face, but realized she'd left the last of her makeup in her purse. As she fished around inside the bag—plumbing past various advertising tissue packs, spare change, and plenty of forgotten train pass cards—she felt an odd, crinkly sensation on her hand. Grabbing at it, she pulled her arm out to discover between her fingers a leaf.

Right—that same leaf from last night.

So, it hadn't all just been something she conjured up. It had all been real.

The strange woman—the one who called herself “Luka”—the flashing characters, the strange speech. All of it.

Miku considered the leaf as she twirled it about in her hands. It came back to her what she'd been told, too: that when she tore apart that leaf, she'd be given “three kindnesses” in exchange for what she'd given that drunkard.

In exchange—yes, Miku had given her three favors, hadn't she? Chasing that lech off, then buying her that iced tea, then offering to walk her to the station.

Not exactly the most noble of deeds, but she did have to admit it was some kind of kindness, at least.

But then... what did “kindnesses” mean, exactly? Wishes? Something less than that?

Miku gripped her chin in thought. No, this had to be something different. It wasn't like this Luka figure was some all-powerful genie. She was clearly blasted out of her mind on all that alcohol—she was vulnerable, capable of weakness.

But wait, Miku thought. The only figures she knew of that reacted that poorly to drink were...

The realization so shocked her that her fingers sprang open, sending the leaf fluttering down to the floor below.

A _youkai._

In a panic, she scooped up the leaf from the floor and set it on her vanity. Yes, she knew it: that woman was a _youkai_ —no question of it. It wasn't exactly something Miku needed piles of evidence for, something she had to investigate deeply.

No, Miku had no doubt. This “Luka” was no human being. It was just something she felt, deeply and surely.

With a start, she realized she was going to be late if she didn’t button up her shirt already and rush out the door. Yet in the midst of the morning's commotion, she realized how surreal it was that she would just be going about her usual routine after all that had happened.

After she’d met a _youkai_ , of all things.

But then, she figured as she boarded her train, there wasn't much else to do about it. She couldn't imagine grinding up the leaf right then and there, hung over and out of sorts. That Luka character couldn't have been much better off, either, for how much she'd clearly drank the other night.

The train rattled and rolled its way to Miku's eventual stop.

“The doors are opening,” the announcer blared, much too loud for Miku's still-pounding head. “Please be careful.”

She departed and arrived at the office in time to get a decent amount of work done on the “Psychology Miracles” campaign before Rin arrived. Her coworker settled in leisurely, stretching her arms over her head long and slow before opening up her laptop and slowly typing in her login credentials.

They exchanged the usual greetings:

“Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

Then, nothing more.

For a while.

Miku tried to focus on the document on the screen in front of her, to stay distracted by the numbing office air broken up only by the clacking of keyboards. But eventually, she gave up.

“Say, Rin,” she finally asked.

“Mm?” Rin answered.

“Random question.”

“What?”

“So, what if...” Miku paused, not sure how to fill the gap. “What if you were given three wishes all of a sudden?”

“What, like Aladdin?”

“Sure. Like Aladdin.”

“God, he was always such a hot Disney prince. Y'know, he was the first...”

“Anyway,” Miku cut in. “If you had three wishes—what would you do with them?”

Rin thought a moment.

“Well, wish number one, I'd make myself empress of the world.”

“Not just queen?” Miku asked.

“No,” Rin firmly asserted. “Empress is higher, right? So, I'm in charge of everything.”

“Okay. Fine. Then what?”

“Well, two, I'd make myself live forever.”

“Uh huh.” Miku just frowned. This seemed to be going nowhere, fast. “And number three?”

“Easy. I'd just wish for three more wishes.”

“Don't they usually forbid that?”

“Damn. You got me there.” Rin held a finger to her lip. “Well, in that case I'd just wish for a million billion yen.”

“That's it?”

“Well like, hey, that much money can do as much as a wish can, right?”

Miku tapped on her keyboard in thought. She supposed Rin had a point.

Still, all of those wishes were pretty obscene. Well, worse than that: more than likely, they were impossible. Sure, if Miku had all the money in the world, and all the power in the world, she could no doubt do things like pay her parents back for her college education, set her grandma up in a nice seaside home, create world peace, and so on—except, if a _youkai_ were capable of that, why would she need Miku's help chasing away a womanizer at a bar?

Not to mention, as Miku thought back to all those stories she was told as a child, she never recalled anything that extraordinary ever happening. The tales were always smaller in scale, simpler in their scope. No, this couldn't be something she approached as if it were her chance to achieve something earth-shattering. It was smaller. It was more personal.

But as the day ticked on, as Miku sank back into her usual routine, she began pondering what all that really meant. She began pondering what it was a _youkai_ might even be after, wandering Tokyo bars after dark, getting so drunk she could barely stand.

It was such an odd sight to consider. Nothing like the ghosts and goblins her mother told Miku about, figures that would trick travelers in the night, or else play cruel pranks on people for disrespecting them in daylight. No, this Luka was no figure who would shave Miku's head for failing to bow to her on the road, she was sure.

Through work, through the sandwich at lunch, through the afternoon meetings, that smiling face with the pale blue eyes that lit it up like the moon kept flickering through Miku's mind, the coral pink hair fluttered before her eyes with every bit of breeze she felt from the office A/C. It was strange: she, the figure herself, seemed to stick around in Miku's head just as much as this idea of wishes being granted.

But, she considered, why was that so strange? She had a met a _youkai—_ a real, living and breathing _youkai_ , a magical being she'd been so sure had existed for so long. It was a chance almost no one else in the world had been given, she was sure. Hell, most people who actually met this figure had no idea of her true nature.

Most likely, most people just took her for an absurdly attractive young woman, and nothing more.

The thought of that stuck with her as she stayed at the office past nightfall, as she boarded her train home. She considered, that in itself, that alone, made her almost obscenely lucky in this world where there were so few surprises left to discover.

At her apartment, Miku set the leaf aside in an envelope and thought things over as she heated water for a bowl of instant ramen.

* * *

The week dragged on, and somehow, Miku made it to Saturday. She awoke early, grabbed some convenience store bread for breakfast, and set about getting a load of laundry done in her apartment complex's communal washing machine.

Once the day grew into afternoon and the laundry dried, Miku thought on to plans she might form that evening. Watching a movie seemed dull. On TV, there wasn't likely to be anything that piqued her interest right now. And she definitely wasn't about to take up that offer Rin had extended about yet another mixer.

No—her options that night were entirely clear.

Which, she supposed, meant she had just one choice clearly set in front of her.

She went to her vanity and grabbed the envelope she'd set aside days and days before.

* * *

Under the veil of nightfall, beneath the glowing of the signs alighted in the distance and the shouts of party-goers first hitting the streets, Miku had fully made up her mind.

She retrieved the small leaf from its envelope. Though it had been days since it had seen sunlight, and though it had surely been longer than that since it had far longer since it had been attached to its mother branch, the leaf felt just as healthy and alive as when Miku had first touched it. Its veins bent in her hand like plastic bands, and the blade that lay between them was smooth as fine cloth.

It seemed a shame to have to dispose of it. Who knew how much longer it would thrive purely on its own?

But, still, its purpose wasn't to exist indefinitely, Miku knew.

Grabbing the same side with both hands, she tore it in one swift motion. The split sides fell away instantly, giving way as effortlessly as if she were taking a freshly forged knife to tracing paper.

She took a breath, then turned to her apartment's front door. Nothing was there. Not even the sound of approaching footsteps from the hallway outside.

In confusion, she darted around to other spaces in her home. The living room, the outer balcony, the bedroom, the toilet—all empty.

Again she went to her entryway, where the torn halves of the leaf still lay. Standing over them, Miku scratched her head. Was this not how it was meant to work? Not instantaneously? Maybe she was supposed to go back to where they had first met, or at least nearby.

She was halfway to getting her shoes on, though, when she jumped in surprise at a low murmuring from behind her.

“Good evening.”

Instantly, she whirled around. There, standing in the entryway was that same woman from before: her silken, coral hair tumbled down to her waist, which was encircled by an elegantly flowing skirt that led up to tantalizingly loose evening gown.

Somehow, Miku managing to tear her eyes from the fluid shape, from that ample chest, up to the woman's face and her knowing smile.

“So it is that you are in need of me,” Luka said as she cocked a fist under her chin, leaning forward expectantly. “I see you are one who requires little time to consider what it is she wants.”

“I guess you could say that,” Miku replied. “Or I guess you could also say I'm just the inquisitive type.”

“Inquisitive?” The strange woman peered at Miku in confusion. “Inquisitive, you say? Why then, what is it you wish to inquire about?”

Little by little, the smile returned to her ruby lips, the anticipation practically dripping off them.

“Perhaps you would know your future? Or the secrets of magic? No, or for one of your sort...” She looked around the bare, dingy apartment, eyes quickly gliding over every bare corner and each inch of peeling wallpaper. “...would it not be better to learn the paths to wealth? Yes, such knowledge I can bestow upon you, surely. In return for the great kindness you have done unto me, the road to great, towering fortunes would be a trifling thing indeed to reveal.”

Her very presence was enrapturing—the glow of her eyes, the curve of those lips over her gorgeous face, they were all enough to leave Miku speechless in beguilement even had she not heard the words just now tumble from Luka's mouth like droplets of wine from a gilded goblet.

Yet, Miku resisted. Swallowing, she shook her head in response.

“Sorry. Gonna have to pass.”

In an instant, the look of confidence crumbled.

“You... pass?” Luka said in bewilderment.

“Yeah. Like, that's what I'm going for?” Miku motioned toward her meager living room. “C'mon, take your shoes off and come in.”

As she crossed back into her room, the other woman simply stood frozen in the entryway, the confidence—the mystery—all at once vanished in a puff of smoke.

“I...” She gasped for breath, seeming to choke on her own words. “I fail to understand this.”

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Miku said. Frowning, she scratched the back of her head awkwardly. “No, see, I just want you to come in and hang around a bit, okay? Like, if that's okay. I'm assuming you're not on a schedule or anything, right?”

“No. I haven't such a thing.”

“Then, just come in. I'll serve us tea.”

Clinging to her composure, Miku went for the fridge to fish out the one bottle of mugicha left. She opened it and—damn, had she used it all up already? She’d been so caught up in the anticipation of Luka’s visit that she hadn’t gotten around to actually doing any shopping. So much for planning ahead.

“Uh, okay, I don't actually have any tea, but...”

She stopped herself as she noticed Luka was still standing by the apartment door—even now frozen in utter confusion. Her expression was locked into a puzzled gaze at the ground, her arms fixed in place like the stones beneath a mountain range.

So Miku sighed.

“Okay. Fine. We'll do it this way.” Gingerly, she tapped the other woman on the arm and pointed to the living room. “I request that you come in.”

At even that slight touch, Luka practically jumped out of her stockings. “What?”

“I said, I request that you come in and spend the evening with me,” Miku repeated. “Or, however you want me to phrase it. Like, I'm using up one of those three 'kindnesses' you owe me, all right?”

“You would... just to have me... enter? And to stay?”

“Well, I mean, nothing else seems to be working,” Miku said with a shrug. “So, come on. Please?”

As if a switch had been flipped, Luka stepped out of her heels and at last crossed over into the apartment proper. In the full light of the living room, she looked no less shaken, though. Still, confusion filled her face. Her eyes looked dull, devoid of their earlier brilliance.

A lump formed in Miku's stomach. This wasn't exactly what she'd hoped for.

“Uh, can I get you a drink?” she offered. “Some snacks? Like I said, I'm out of tea. Sorry.”

A flicker of light played across Luka's pale, slender throat as she visibly swallowed. “Perhaps, you might have drink of some strength?”

Strength? Like, alcoholic?

Miku frowned. “No offense, but you sure that's a good idea? You got kind of out of hand the last time I saw you.”

“I possess self-control, I assure you. It's simply that...” The woman folded her arms in front of her chest as she avoided Miku's gaze. “...I'm loath to admit it, but there are times when what's offered to me is difficult to refuse.”

“Not when it's from me, though?”

“No, no, I...” In a sudden panic, she waved her hands in front of herself. “That wasn't my intention. I apologize.”

“Okay. Accepted.” Smiling, Miku went for the top cabinet in the kitchen. More ramen, some instant curry, onions, leftover candies—sliding them all by, she finally produced a single bottle. “So, about that drink—plum wine okay? It's all I got that's, well, fit for entertaining.”

“It will do perfectly, thank you.”

In only a few minutes more, the both of them were sitting on Miku's cramped, poorly stuffed sofa, two glasses of apricot-colored liquor glimmering on the coffee table in front of them. Luka sipped at hers gingerly, eyes still looking anywhere but at Miku. Her legs tilted in toward her seat, as if it were too low down for her to sit comfortably on, and her waist tilted forward as she clung to her glass tightly.

The sight didn't do much to ease Miku's own nerves. She didn't entertain much—well, even for a young woman renting a tiny apartment—and she certainly wasn't getting the impression she was doing a good job now.

Still, there wasn't anything to do other than press on, she told herself.

“So, uh,” she started—then stopped, swallowing. As if she was choking on her own question. “Weird thing to ask, but... Well, what were you doing at the Bamboo Grove?”

Luka frowned as she swallowed another gulp of wine. “Imbibing. To excess. I believe you saw as much.”

“No, I mean, like,” Miku said, “ _why_ were you there?”

“...To imbibe,” Luka said, looking no less confused.

“Yes, but...” Miku felt herself start screaming on the inside—was there really no easy way to phrase this? “Like... you're a _youkai_. Right?”

Whether it was from satisfaction or simple amusement at her awkwardness, Miku couldn't tell—but the statement at last got Luka's smile to return.

“You have known this for quite some time, didn't you?” she asked.

“Well, it's just one of those things you _feel_ , y'know?” Miku answered. “And I guess I just 'felt' the truth about you. If that makes sense.”

“It does. For how oddly you tell it.” Smirking still, Luka traced a finger around her glass. “But you are correct, however. I am indeed a _youkai_.”

There arose a powerful thumping in Miku's chest—so, she'd been right all this time. As sure as she’d been up to this point, to actually hear it confirmed was still enough to leave her soaring.

“And if I had to guess,” Miku said, “you're... a fox spirit, right? A _kitsune_?”

“Quite perceptive,” Luka replied in affirmation.

“Okay, so,” Miku went on, “since you're that—like, a powerful, magical creature—what are you doing hanging around bars and stuff? Like, that's what stressed-out suits like me do. What's behind you being there?”

“But surely, would you not guess it's the same reason as you?” With a shrug, Luka drained her glass in one quick gulp. “The state drink instills upon my kind is a powerful, mystifying thing. Fleeting, to be sure. But like the cherry blossoms, does that not make it all the more desirable?”

“Uh, okay. Makes sense.” Miku sipped at her own glass, eying Luka's empty one with apprehension. At the rate she was going, refilling it would drain the bottle pretty quickly. “Pretentious, but makes sense.”

“Might I offer a question of my own? Or would such be going against the nature of your request?”

Sighing, Miku decided to top off Luka's glass anyway.

“Go right ahead,” she said.

“Why are _you_ bothering with _this_ rather odd set of proceedings?”

The question felt like a freight train coming at Miku while she was walking down an alleyway. It left her utterly gobsmacked—had this girl _never_ been talked to this way before? Was Miku just inquiring too much? Sure, she had a bad tendency to make people uncomfortable. But, as things stood, they'd barely spoken.

She took a moment to gather her senses and pick her jaw off the floor. Another sip of the plum wine helped in both regards.

“By 'these proceedings,'” Miku said, “I'm assuming you mean, like, my asking you over?”

“Yes. Just as I said.” Despite the note of disdain in her voice, Luka gladly picked the refilled glass from the table and nipped at it. “For you see, in my experience, those who recognize what I am rarely have interest in finding out more about me. They've seemed more predisposed toward gaining things from me.” Another quick sip. “That is, when they aren't calling for a priest.”

“What? Are you saying this request doesn't make sense?”

“What I'm saying is that it's highly unusual,” Luka replied. “Surely, you have desire for wealth? For vast knowledge?”

Miku shrugged. “Same as anyone else, I guess.”

“Then, why spurn those possibilities? Why choose my presence over them?”

“Well, like...” Frowning again, Miku took to her glass to pause for thought. “It's sort of, I know you're not exactly a genie, for one thing. I doubt you can just give me piles of yen out of thin air.”

The other woman simply sat in silence—more relaxed now, at least—rotating her glass with her wrist.

“But, beyond that,” Miku went on, “money's just a thing, y'know? And as for knowledge, well, the internet exists. I can find out most anything I want there if I need.”

Still no reply from her strange guest, or even a semblance of a reaction. She merely stared on, taking in the explanation with a mix of surprise and slow apprehension.

“So, the way I figured it,” Miku said, “the most unique thing I could get from meeting you is—well— _you_.” At once, she felt heat flush over her face, lighting up her cheeks. Quickly she retreated again to her plum wine, only surfacing from the glass once she felt the first flickering of a buzz in her head. “Y'know, like, you're a _youkai_. I was always told those don't exist. So, like, what better use of meeting you than to, y'know, actually _meet_ you? Find out what a _youkai_ is really like and all that.”

“Why? So that you might discern how we may be disposed of?”

“No, no!” In a panic, Miku shook her hands in front of herself. “Seriously, it's nothing like that. I just mean, more like... I always heard about you. And I always figured you were really around, somewhere.”

Amazingly, the response prompted a sly smile from Luka, enough comfort in her to go back to sipping her wine.

“We always have been,” she said.

“So,” said Miku, “how long does that mean _you've_ been around?”

Luka smirked as she withdrew her glass from her lips. “I would think you'd know better than to ask a lady her age.”

Miku nearly choked on her own sip of wine. “Guess I walked into that one.”

“However, if you _must_ know,” Luka said, “I'm certainly older than this building we're in.”

The old wallpaper, the even older walls behind it, caught Miku's attention. Truth be told, she wasn't sure when this apartment had even been built—surely before the 80s or so, if how tough it had been to get internet was anything to go by.

But, older? How _much_ older? Come to think of it, Miku hadn't ever understood how long the average _kitsune_ could live. That part was never in any tales she'd heard of. Only how the heroes would outsmart the creatures. Or else, how they would torment regular folk.

Yet, for all that Miku had seen, Luka really wasn't the sort that would torment people. Or even the sort that would need to be outsmarted. If she had been, Miku sure as hell wouldn't have invited her into her home.

“Fine,” she said. “Maybe a better question would be why you bother accepting drinks from strange men in bars.”

At this, though, Luka's dark expression returned. She took a long, slow sip from her glass, then set the drained vessel back atop the coffee table, yet made no clear indication she wanted it refilled.

“I wish for drink, and want for coin,” she finally said. “If I can achieve my libations without funds, then, I ask where is the harm in such play?”

“Uh, it's to _you_ , mainly,” Miku answered. “I mean, I saw what that stuff did to you. It made you totally helpless. And, like, that's dangerous out here, y'know? Maybe it's different where you're from, but here, getting yourself to near unconsciousness is just...” She shook her head, considering if she should take another sip, but finally set her glass aside on the coffee table. “It's just not safe, okay?”

“If you insist as much,” Luka replied with a sigh. Slyly, she turned again toward Miku, and trailed a finger along the outer edge of her empty glass. “But then, perhaps it might be _you_ who fills my vessels instead of unknown men in bars?”

Something in that phrasing stopped Miku's thinking dead in its tracks. No—she couldn't just be imagining the deeper meaning behind that wording, could she? She normally wasn't one to be so crude, but...

No. She shook her head vigorously. Just some _kitsune_ trick, surely. It wasn't as if that was what she was after.

Even if she was really, really damn hot.

“Look, if you want to drink at my place, fine,” Miku said. “Though before I promise that, maybe we could get to know each other better?”

And at that, Luka smiled again. Yet it wasn't that scheming smirk, that grin full of deeper plans and meanings—it was a simple smile, one so plain, one so understandable and easy to read.

For all that, though, it seemed all the more lovely to Miku.

“I do believe,” Luka said, “that such an approach would be best.”

* * *

As the sun continued to set, as the long shadows of twilight turned to the blanket of the evening's darkness, the conversation between Miku and her guest grew easier, more comfortable.

Miku got more of her questions in. Unimpeded, this time.

She asked what Luka did during most days, where she stayed, what her routine was like. And sure enough, she got her answers. No dodging from the truth. Genuine, real answers.

“I enjoy wandering roads, flitting from shrub to water droplet,” Luka answered, “communing with the river as to how it had passed the day, and then learning how the nearby reeds had done in kind.

“They tell me of how the sunlight reflects during that day—how the wind blows, and how the water within the air feels. Through their own language, I learn the particular ways that the clouds may move, and that the air may flow, and that the heat may stream.”

It all sounded to Miku like another way to tell the weather.

And yet, there was more.

“We speak of ways to tell how the ground shifts,” Luka also said, “of how the earth trembles under the weight of her ongoing years, and how her body moves and bends under that strain. We discuss how the world's bend in orbit might change the seasons—how early or late they may arrive—and how sharply that may change the plans they have for the coming year.”

“Among us humans, we call discussions like that 'small talk,'” Miku said.

But Luka gave her condescending smirk at that reply.

“I'm afraid I see nothing 'small,'” she said, “about the ways that the earth's conditions have manifested themselves.”

Perhaps there was a point to that, Miku supposed. The world did some astonishing things, now that she thought about it—how it threw water down from its sky, brewed lighting within its vapors, nursed plants to life with its body.

It would have been only natural that Luka, being what she was, would recognize that. But Miku—perhaps she had been lingering the city for too long. Skimped too many times on taking trips out to the country.

Still, as Miku thought on all that, the situation seemed all the more strange.

“If you like being out in nature so much, though,” Miku said, “why did I find you so far into Tokyo?”

A playful glow shone in Luka's eyes. “For all the wonderful things I find in such a place, alcohol is not one of them.”

“That's your one reason for going into the city? Just to get wasted?”

“It grows dull to merely be in the company of nature, and of those others of my kind,” she replied. “So it was that I first crossed into that land which humans call their own. And so it was there that I first tasted the sweet sting of alcohol.”

“Yeah, but didn't you ever start going for the people who were around?”

The question quickly snuffed out the glow in Luka's eyes, as easily as if Miku had flipped a switch. The other woman frowned in a twisted look of annoyance and confusion.

“There was never a reason to feel that way. The people I encountered—they were crude, selfish, absorbed within themselves. Interested always in what their ambition would bring them, or had brought them already. For such feats and having the coin to purchase libations for us both, they so often supposed I was a prize to be earned in exchange.”

An exchange—was that why Luka had offered her favors the way she did? Three good turns given in trade. But _only_ in trade. It was so transactional, now that Miku considered it. So cold.

So... well, human.

“Well, if that's how it is with people,” Miku said, “why not get a bottle to share with your fellow _kitsune_?”

Luka shook her head. “My kind see such a thing as unsightly. To imbibe of something with such mind-numbing potential, you see, is not viewed kindly.”

The hint of sadness in the words shot through Miku like an arrow. She frowned, circling the edge of her glass with a finger awkwardly.

“When you say 'unkindly'...”

“Unkindly enough to shun one,” Luka preemptively responded. “I knew many fellow fox-spirits before. Many. Little by little, however, they decided they did not wish to know me.”

She seemed so far away as she said that, off in a world of her own. The mere recognition of the sudden gap between them was excruciating, a feeling that made Miku's chest tighten up. At once, she wanted to reach out, to stretch forward, to close the distance.

“Well,” Miku said, “ _I_ want to know you.”

They were just a few words. But they seemed to be enough. A smile tugged on Luka's brilliant, ruby red lips. The shine flickered again in her eyes.

“So it would seem,” she replied.

In that instant, she was back—returned from that brief spiriting away to another realm of shadows and isolation. Miku grinned up at her not in exchange, but in simple answer.

Was this what a mixer that went _well_ would feel like? It certainly seemed that way to Miku.

But, she felt her flush return as she heard her stomach let out a low growl. Only then did she realize how hungry she'd become, a sting that the nearly half-a-bottle of plum wine hadn't exactly helped.

Dammit. An actual mixer would have food.

“You getting hungry at all?” Miku offered. “I don't have a lot of food here now, but maybe we could go out someplace. Or, I dunno, just get something delivered.”

In response, Luka's satisfied smile grew wider, her look of sly cunning returned.

“Have you, perhaps, not been fully understanding my attempts at introduction?” she asked.

“Uh, what?” Miku gulped, going over everything she'd been told so far in an internal panic. Had Luka mentioned that she didn't have to eat or something? As playful as that grin was, she couldn't help but feel humiliated she didn't have an answer here. “Sorry, but, I'm lost on this one.”

“I've been telling you,” Luka said, holding a finger up and wagging it, “that I have abilities beyond what you consider 'normal.' And yet, you would forget this knowledge now that you have needs to be fulfilled?”

“Oh!”

Miku's hand flew to her forehead with a force all on its own—to think, she'd forgotten so quickly that she still had two favors left. And here she was, about to spend way too much of that week's salary on takeout.

“Right. Guess that makes sense, yeah.” She scratched the back of her head as she laughed the lingering anxiety off. “So, uh... what's a _kitsune_ go for, as far as food goes? Well, you in particular.”

“Oh, surely you should know,” Luka replied with her finger to her lip.

There was an impishness in that smile—a playfulness that spoke to nothing but the woman being a fox, through and through. No tail to show for it, and yet, Miku thought for sure it might peek through as the night went on.

And at once the tales from her grandmother rushed back to her: the biggest link between the _kitsune_ and food.

“You... Are you saying you can conjure up rice?” Miku asked.

“It can be a trying task to do so,” Luka replied, “but then, you are still owed a favor from me, are you not?”

Miku smiled. Rice, then. It wasn't exactly the finest of rare cuisine, but one with the best flavor of all: free.

“Okay,” she said. “I ask you for enough rice for both of us.”

Still holding onto that sly, impish smile of hers, Luka rose to her feet. Her silky skirt again flowed down along her shapely legs like river water coursing free from a demolished dam, the very motion of it entrancing. It was all the more captivating as she walked, moved like the air fluttering between the leaves of a tree in spring.

“I shall need use of a vessel,” she said. “Unless, that is, you wish to pick the grains off your table.”

“That something you usually do?” Miku asked with a grin of her own.

There was that playful shimmer in the other woman's eyes again. “Only when I'm without the aid of such a thoughtful human.”

There was an instinctive pause in Miku's step as she went to the kitchen. “Thoughtful”? It seemed, somehow, an odd choice of words. Though who could tell what was in the other woman's intentions at this point. Between her odd language and her shrouded wishes, it wasn't going to do Miku much good to linger on points like this.

Then—why couldn't she shake the thought that there _was_ something deeper?

She swallowed, took a deep breath. Maybe the wine was getting to her.

Maybe there was some kind of magic in the air that a _youkai_ carried with her.

In her cramped kitchen, Miku bent down to the cabinet by the floor, fished out a large bowl from the back of the shelf, and placed it on the small stretch of counterspace beside her stove.

“Will this work?” she asked.

Luka, drawing near the tiny room, eyed the shabby yet spacious plastic container with a shrug.

“As well as any other, I suppose,” she said.

She motioned to swap places with Miku and stepped in front of the bowl. Calmly, with one hand comfortably tucked under her chin, the strange woman pointed a finger at the center of the bowl, holding it in perfect stillness above its surface.

There was no flash of brilliant light, no thunderous clap from the spark of creation—not even a puff of smoke that emerged from the _youkai_ 's hand. Instead, the one and only thing that manifested between the space of her outstretched finger and the empty air of the bowl was rice, and rice alone.

Yes, Miku's jaw dropped as she watched: grain after grain, as if being poured from some enormous, invisible bag from high above, tumbled down in a perfect, unbroken stream from some unseen realm just below the tip of Luka's finger. The pile of picture-perfect, pure white grains climbed higher and higher, mountainous, until the peak began to give way under its own weight and spread out as evenly as an undisturbed lake.

It looked so smooth, so fantastically porcelain and satisfying, that Miku wanted to run her fingers through the grains. And as the rice neared the lip of the bowl, and Luka retracted her hand, Miku did just that; not so much pushed forward by her, but pulled forth by the rice, her hand moved toward it and dipped itself in.

Yet, just as her fingertips grazed the surface of the grains, she yelped in pain and withdrew her hand. For what she felt wasn't the cold, hard grains of still-raw meal—but the hot, moistened texture of perfectly cooked grains.

“You boiled it already?” Miku said in total shock—how could that even be? As the grains had poured in, she was so certain they looked solid, dry as bones.

Luka let forth a soft chuckle: only a few notes of soft, subdued laughter, yet still enough to make the tiny kitchen feel alive with the music of petals falling in spring.

“It would hardly be fit for the both of us to eat otherwise, surely,” she replied.

Frowning in thought, Miku licked the stray grains off her fingertips.

They were utterly delicious.

“I guess you got me there,” she said with a laugh.

* * *

The way Miku saw it, the only thing to do with that much rice, and few other ingredients, was to roll up _onigiri_. And plenty of it.

From her cabinets she gathered some spare bonito flakes, some _furikake_ , then from the fridge a small leftover filet of grilled salmon. In no time they were mixed together, evenly distributed throughout the pile of rice.

Over the counter Miku laid out a length of saran wrap and dolloped around a handful of rice into it.

“You want to help at all?” she asked, preparing to separate out another length of wrap.

“Do I, now?” Luka replied in a sing-songy, playful hum. “Is this perhaps how you use your third request?”

“Not on getting you to pull your weight, hell no,” Miku said with a laugh. “You don't wanna help out, you're free to sit there. Just know you'll only get the small rolls.”

“My, what a harsh host you are,” Luka said playfully. But sure enough, she stood and sidled over to stand beside Miku in the tiny kitchen space. “But I must say, this is quite the shift in tradition. I cannot recall being in a home that asked me to work for my evening meal.”

“Well, hey, times change,” Miku said. “That, or maybe I'm just weird.”

Immediately, Luka took hold of a handful of rice, still smiling that keen, mischievous smile. “Perhaps you are. I suspect few humans would say a thing like that with a _youkai_ beside them.”

The words—how close they sounded in Miku's ear—were what made her realize it: Luka _was_ beside her. Right up next to her, in fact, close enough from the compact size of the kitchen that if Miku so much as shifted her weight from one foot to another, she would have brushed shoulders with the other woman.

She couldn't kid herself: it was making her blush again.

But fortunately, Luka didn't seem to notice. Or at least if she had, she wasn't showing it. Instead, she had quickly followed Miku's lead in rolling up the _onigiri_ , placing a dollop of rice in the middle of her plastic wrap, then using the outer cover to help shape them into the familiar triangular form.

“For someone who doesn't make much food, you sure seem to know what you're doing,” Miku commented.

“All I'm doing is mimicking you, I must admit,” Luka said. “You appear to have a certain talent for this.”

“Not 'talent' so much as practice. I did this a whole bunch with my grandmother when I just a kid.”

“She seems to have taught you well, all the same.”

“Thanks. This and plenty of other things.”

“You sound as though you respect her quite a bit,” Luka said.

“Well, yeah,” Miku replied. “She took good care of me. It's really because of her in particular that I am who I am today.”

“If I may be so rude...” Luka paused in forming her next _onigiri_. In the ensuing silence, Miku swore she could hear the _youkai_ gulp, her words again catching in her throat for some untold reason. “Why are you on your own, instead of with her?”

The lack of confidence shocked Miku even more than the realization of how close the other woman was. It was that temporary sadness in her that did it, the misstep in that usual look of mischief.

Something in it looked sadder, more shaken than when she'd been surprised at Miku's doorstep—and Miku only became more confused as she began to realize why.

“She's still around, if that's what you're asking,” Miku answered. “Not passed away or anything.”

Apparently, her suspicions had been correct: with that reassurance, the light instantly returned to Luka's eyes, the composure to her stance.

“Fortunate,” she said. “But then, I must repeat my question.”

“It's just that there's not much in the way of future prospects where she is,” Miku answered. “She's out in the country, see, in an old family home she insisted on keeping. And if I wanted to get on in the modern world, well, it didn't make sense to stay out where nobody was hiring.”

“I can't say I understand all of that,” Luka responded with a sigh. “But I comprehend your reasoning enough. Unfortunate as its outcome may be.”

“Why'd you want to ask, though?”

Again, Luka tensed up, stopping cold in her shaping of the next roll.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked.

“Well, like...” Miku scratched her head. Somehow, the right words weren't coming. “I guess I always heard _kitsune_ generally... I dunno, didn't care that much about what becomes of humans?” She bit her lip as she said it—maybe they weren't coming right away because of how awful they sounded, actually coming out of her mouth. “Sorry. I don't mean, like, I'd think you'd feel that way out of malevolence or anything. More that, well, it's just a blip in time to you. Like, we're just mayflies compared to you, as far as lifespan goes.”

Miku had no idea what kind of response to expect from a statement like that. Shock, anger, condescension, any one of them could have come just as easily as any other from this curious woman, so full of mysteries to explore, strange stories to learn.

And yet, even so, Miku found herself surprised when all she received from Luka was a gentle smile, one radiating with peace and humility.

“True, it is so,” she answered. “You are but mayflies to us in that regard. But, if you knew the name of such an insect—if you knew her personality, her wants, her wishes, and the family by whom she was raised—would you not wish that she lived but a few hours longer than what nature decrees?”

A wash of hot shame swept over Miku—how had she not thought about it that way?

“I guess I probably would,” she admitted. But, she pondered the words more deeply. “Although—where's all this coming from?”

This time Luka didn't merely freeze up—her ball of rice dropped from her hand, plopping to the small stretch of countertop like a stone.

“Whatever might you mean?” she asked.

Miku frowned. There was a poetry in the way this _youkai_ had spoken about people just now, as she talked about knowing them in so compassionate, so personal a manner. None of it sounded like thoughts from someone who only skirted the edge of human society.

“I mean,” Miku said, “that I don't think you're quite as separated from people as you let on. Or maybe that you haven't always been.”

With a sigh, Luka picked up the splattered remains of her _onigiri_ and began reforming it. “Since you've seen through me, I find little reason to hide it: yes, I haven't always been entirely separated from humanity. There was a time when I lived more... openly among you. Yes, many humans I even knew by name.”

“And then?”

“And then, they moved on,” Luka answered. Her eyes, frosted and wintry now, were fully focused on the rice she was half-heartedly trying to put back together with unenthusiastic kneading. “Onto other lives. Beyond their current one.” Her fingers barely grabbed at the grains, the contents inside the saran wrap barely scraping together. “The ones they left behind, well... They were so unlike the ones I knew.”

A spark ignited within Miku—some impulse, some bit of energy carried from far away in that night's peculiar air. Something uncovered from the deep as she gazed into the cold, undisturbed, and utterly untouched longing in Luka's eyes.

She reached out a hand to place it over Luka's, and then another. The other woman started as she did so, but quickly enough, she relaxed again, yielding to the sudden touch.

“Here,” Miku said, “like this.”

Her hands guided Luka's, moving over the other woman's to reform the misshapen clump of rice back into something familiar and whole.

Even from that simple movement alone, the more satisfying shape that it wrought—Miku swore she saw the flicker of a smile play on those ruby lips.

“I'm sorry you lost all of them,” Miku said. “But, you know, it's not like they would have wanted you to never be involved again, I'm sure.”

“They likely would have said as much,” Luka said. Already, her hands were beginning to mimic the same motions as Miku’s.

Satisfied she was doing well enough on her own, Miku pulled her hands away. “I guess that's not all that much comfort. But I dunno, I can tell you that's the prevailing human attitude. I don't think any of us would really want to be mourned for all eternity, y'know?”

“ _Any_ of you?” Luka asked.

Much to Miku's delight, that smile—so sardonic, so mischievous—had returned in full.

And so she replied with a grin of her own.

“Okay, fine. _Some_ would like that.”

“So I see you understand what I mean,” Luka said, “when I speak of those whom I did not care to know.”

“Are you kidding? You know we have these things called 'high schools,' right?”

“I've overheard conversations about them,” Luka replied with a snicker. “They sound perfectly dreadful.”

“Well, maybe I'll tell you about mine, if you want,” Miku said. With a triumphant flourish, though, she gestured at the empty rice bowl, then at the mountain of _onigiri_ they'd both produced. “Now, are you gonna help me eat these, or will I just have to handle them all myself?”

Much to Miku's delight, that playful grin still didn't let up.

“Whatever you request, my gracious host,” Luka replied with a wink.


	3. Part 3

It took them no time at all to scarf down around half of the rice balls, though as they came to the home stretch of finishing them, their pace began to slow. Perhaps it was also how quickly the conversation grew to intrude on the act of eating; just as Miku promised, she told of her old high school, how she'd formed a group of friends and used them as her shield against the wider groups of bullies and stuck-up sorts, yet even those she knew and cared for never understood her obsession with fantasy stories and old fairy tales.

But when Luka’s interest in the conversation begin to wane, Miku shifted discussion instead to more modern things she was interested in, those current ways in which she and her friends had occupied themselves. She talked about the movies she enjoyed, with blends of suspense and romance and the fantastic. She talked about taking bike rides out into the countryside, waving at the cars that would pass by, and taking photos with forced perspective tricks so that Miku would be a giant and her friends tiny people about to be inadvertently stepped on.

Much to her amazement, Luka took all that in with wide-eyed curiosity. It wasn't entirely a new world for her—she clearly knew what these modern inventions Miku spoke of were, in essence—but to actually hear of someone living a life in this age, growing up with familiarity of such things, brought a vivid, wide-eyed look of wonder to Luka's face that shone all throughout the conversation.

And that total wonder finally turned into words from Luka once Miku described, of all things, karaoke.

“You have such a thing?” Luka asked in amazement. “Rooms to rent out, where you do naught but drink and sing?”

“Well, more or less, yeah,” Miku answered. “Like, they play the music from speakers, and you sing the lyrics. It's loads of fun. Especially with a group of people.”

Luka simply shook her head. “Making merry with music into the night. Truly, the more things change, the more they stay the same.”

“Really, though, you _never_ heard of karaoke before? You must've seen one of the buildings, at least.”

“Oh, the occasion has come when I would pass by them, indeed. Yet pass by is all I have done. I never gained an understanding as to their purpose, nor grew curious enough to try.”

“Well, now you know,” Miku said. Smiling, she took a sip from her replenished cup of plum wine. “You can thank me later.”

“Do you have such a building for dances, as well?”

Midway through another sip, Miku titled her head in confusion. “For dances?”

“Yes. Spaces where you might celebrate the night with movement to music, instead of with voice.”

“Yeah, they call those 'clubs,'” Miku replied as she set her glass down. “Not really my kind of place, though. They're loud, expensive, full of guys trying to come onto you.” She thought a moment. “Well. I guess there are exceptions to that last part.”

“Quite the shame,” Luka said, titling her head back against the top of the sofa's back. “More so than singing, dancing is what I always favored.”

“Wait. What?” Immediately, Miku sat up on her part of the couch in high alert. “You dance?”

“Of course. I always adored the festivals for that very reason. As the performers played music into the night, I enjoyed squeezing into the crowds and accepting the drinks those making merry would bestow upon me. And I would join them in their dancing. For as long as they could bear to stand.”

As if by some infectious mischief—something spreading from the strange magic in her apartment that night, Miku felt a playful smile of her own tug at her lips. Slowly, she drew her phone out of her pocket.

“Wanna show me?”

And Luka's own smile retreated. “What?”

“Your dancing. I'm curious now.”

“Oh, come now. What's to be curious about with such a simple thing as that?”

Though she said as much with strength and composure, there was still a hint of pink spreading across her checks, a glow that shone in the same hue as her hair under the gentle glow of the apartment's simple ceiling lighting.

So Miku chuckled to herself. Now, she _had_ to see this through.

“You just didn't strike me as the dancing type, is all,” she said. Gently, she set her phone on the coffee table and popped open a music app. “C'mon, what did you like to dance to? Traditional festival music, right? I'm sure I can find that.”

“I have only to say that this is quite ridiculous,” Luka said with an uncharacteristic huff. “The time is entirely wrong, is it not? I hardly see the fireworks of a festival. We haven't had nearly enough drunk for this, either.”

“Aw, who are you to stand me up based on 'tradition' and crap?” Already, Miku had found a whole playlist of what she was looking for: festival music and folk songs, hours and hours of the stuff. “C'mon, we shouldn't need rules to tie us down. We're just having fun here, right?”

“I surely hope you will not expend one of your owed kindnesses on a thing as trivial as this,” Luka said, arms crossed below her chest.

“ _Definitely_ not. You don't want to dance, you don't have to.” But, flashing a grin, Miku waved her phone at her guest's face, making sure to show the music she'd found. “All I'm saying, though, is I've got all the fun of a festival loaded up right here.”

From the instant Luka’s eyes met Miku's, the staredown that ensued was intense; the gaze that met Miku’s radiated pride more than embarrassment, confidence more than bashfulness. Yet, the blush on the _youkai_ 's cheeks meant the truth behind that facade couldn't stay hidden forever. Miku knew she would have to concede, one way or another.

And, in the seconds that ensued, concede Luka did. She cast her gaze to the floor and, sighing, stood from the sofa as she rotated her arms in a clear attempt to loosen her muscles.

“Very well. Perhaps you would start with something a little less energetic?”

With a smile that threatened to stretch Miku's cheeks to their limit, she nodded enthusiastically. Right away, she loaded up a song she was at least somewhat familiar with—a lower tempo festival tune, fun but not overbearing.

As the first note from a _koto_ struck out from the phone, instantly Luka struck a confident pose, arms outstretched and palms turned inward. Drums began beating, and with the rhythm now established, she began to move in earnest: she extended a long, slender leg far out, taking a step forward in perfect time with the music, and walked gracefully along in a simple circle as the rhythm continued and the full suite of instruments joined in the tune.

And though the song remained low-tempo, its volume and intensity swelled; the passion behind the playing grew, and Luka raised her arms into another elegant pose as she continued to step in time with the music, turning her wrists gracefully in motions compelled less by prescribed steps and more by the moment's instinct.

Miku merely looked on in total awe. The simple grace of Luka's legs, the ripple of her skirt—it all entranced her more thoroughly than glistening rainbow, bewildered her more than a fireworks display.

Yet Miku's eyes quickly shifted from Luka's gracefully moving body to her face as the _youkai_ again flashed a sly, mischievous smile.

“You know,” Luka said, “I must say, I'm hardly surprised you spend little time in spaces where patrons dance.”

Despite the music behind the words, their meaning left Miku frowning. “Why's that?”

“Because, in my experience,” Luka replied, “in such spaces, one quite rarely dances alone.”

She stepped forward, and in one swift movement—before Miku even had time to register it—pulled her host up off the couch to stand beside her.

At once, butterflies welled up in Miku's stomach, her legs shaking.

“But I...” she stuttered out. “No, look, I mean, I don't...”

“Surely you can,” Luka said, “if it's only the two of us.”

It was hard for Miku to believe her. How was she supposed to dance as gracefully, as elegantly as Luka was doing, even now? The way she let her arms hold still while walking, then just stepping in place, legs always moving so perfectly in rhythm they could have been part of the instrumental ensemble—there could be no way of matching that practiced, that wholly entrancing splendor.

But she swallowed as she let the doubts sink away, covered up by that feeling of warmth she still felt emanating from Luka's hand.

It _was_ only the two of them, after all.

Hesitantly, Miku began to walk in time to the music the same way Luka did, raising her free arm up in much the same pose. It was awkward, at first; still Miku's legs trembled as she stepped, still her feet tingled in uncomfortable protest as they touched the ground in loose rhythm with the music.

Yet, as she squeezed Luka's hand, she found herself become more stable in her movements. Bit by bit, step by step, she began to twist her arm with greater confidence in time to the tune. She felt the pounding of the drums course through her, the vivacity of the flutes lift her spirits higher—and all at once, she felt excitement swell inside like a mighty wave.

Without her realizing it, a laugh burst out from Miku's lips. She looked up and to her side, saw Luka dancing all the more excitedly near her with that same mischievous smile spread over her face. Her energy and sheer exuberance spread over to Miku more and more, rushing over her like a thrillingly fast wind.

And Miku noticed now her legs were moving entirely on their own. She was stepping all around the small space of the living room in perfect tandem with Luka's own steps, then resting in one spot to tap her feet and twist her arms as she held them over her head.

They moved on and on, swayed, stepped, converged on one another again to grasp their hands and laugh as they fell out of rhythm. But they picked up the pace again and stepped in perfect time as they stood face to face, and Miku couldn't even hope to wipe the sappy, ecstatic grin off her face as she kept her eyes fixed on Luka's shimmering eyes.

All until a final, triumphant swell of the music played, and the song stopped.

Hand in hand, the both of them panted, staring each other deep in the eyes, not so much as trembling with movement in the sudden silence.

Luka panted for a few moments more, then wiped a bead of sweat from her brow.

“Does that show meet your satisfaction?” she asked with that same grin.

But Miku, shaking her head, broke away, went straight to her phone.

“I'd say we have a lot more of an evening ahead,” she replied.

And to her delight, Luka beamed in response.

“I would say much the same thing,” she said, and struck another pose as the next song's first note rang out.

* * *

Though they played one upbeat festival tune after another, it took a long series of songs for the rhythm and routine of the evening to wear Miku and Luka out. And even then, it was Miku who had to beg for a break first—had she not spoken up then, she feared, Luka and her literally otherworldly stamina might have given her sore muscles for days to come.

Yet Miku couldn't bear to let the musical portion of the evening end on such an unsatisfactory note. Still panting, still sweating too much for comfort, she stumbled back over to her phone and flipped through it for some mellow jazz tunes.

“Meet me in the middle,” she offered. “Slow dance with me instead?”

“ _Slow_ dance?” Luka asked, puzzled. “I must admit, I am not familiar with such a thing.”

“It's easy,” Miku replied. She hit “play” on her phone, and at once a slow, gentle number filled the small apartment. “You just... well, you just hold your partner and, uh, step and sway to the music.”

She reached out and took Luka's hand, but all the same, the full meaning of what she was now doing had already hit her in full: dancing up close. With Luka. Hands held, moving in rhythm...

Gulping, she shook off the tension. She'd already extended the offer—it would just be plain rude to rescind it now.

And anyway, Luka was already reciprocating. As Miku clutched Luka's hand, she also wrapped an arm around the other woman's waist, and instantly Luka began rocking and swaying to match the rhythm with which Miku moved.

The _youkai_ gave a chuckle. “This is quite a simple example of a dance, is it not?”

“Well, it's one I only know, if only a little,” Miku said, laughing awkwardly in reply. “Sorry it's, y'know, not more exciting.”

“I don't mean to say I dislike it.” Humming in contentment, Luka squeezed Miku's hand. “It's merely different.”

Miku sighed in relief. Bit by bit, she was already sinking into the new, more subdued atmosphere of the soft jazz music, and equally sinking into the partial embrace she shared with Luka as they moved in time to the song.

“It's a curious rhythm to keep up, however,” Luka said. “How should I be moving, exactly?”

“Just kinda step how I do,” Miku replied. “You'll get it. It's one of those things you just _feel_ , y'know?”

Half in realization, half in simple delight, Luka's face lit up. “Yes. I believe I do.”

They stepped, swayed in rhythm again, keeping motion to the song and the playlist of tunes that came after. Though they held that same pose for a while, with their hands held and Miku's arm at Luka's waist, bit by bit they inched themselves closer, closer to one another as they moved—until, before Miku knew it, their bodies were pressed together in a full-on embrace.

And yet, Miku didn’t feel the slightest bit uncomfortable about how tightly they were holding each other. All she could do was to sink into the warmth, the soft touch of the other woman and lose herself to the feeling of being so near to her.

She only now noticed Luka’s scent—soft and subtle, yet at the same time warm, sweet, and utterly invigorating. Like the smell of citrus trees carried upwards on a gentle wind.

Sighing in contentment, Miku nuzzled into Luka's shoulder. The bare skin against her cheek was soft, welcoming, as smooth a fine silk robe. Even after she leaned in she could hardly believe she'd gone so far—to grow so comfortable with physical affection so quickly, so unprompted—yet, the gentle, carefree way with which Luka continued her movements quickly swallowed all the doubts Miku could bring herself to feel.

It was all so right. So warm, so comfortable, so enticing in only a way that notes of magic in the air could make one feel as they swayed gently to the rhythm of the ongoing music.

Was this what it was like to be bewitched, Miku wondered? Was this how it felt to be carried off in the night to sensations, a sheer state of mind beyond what reality could promise? She could understand all the more easily now how all those folk heroes of old could yield to these spells—how easily the samurai could hold onto the ghost of a departed lover into the dawn, or how willingly the young romantic had stayed with a mysterious, perfect wife though he surely knew her to be a _yuki-onna_ , a _youkai_ of the snow.

If this was what it was to be beguiled, swept away by the magic of the earth's oldest spirits, Miku had no complaints. She didn't wish to leave.

But, as she shifted again, moved in motion to the music—was that really so? This sensation, this swimming in the clouds in her head, this fluttering in her chest that was lighter than air, wasn't entirely unknown. She knew it, from those days in high school where her gaze had lingered too long on the laughing face of that girl from class 3-E; from those days in an early college internship, where her attention on her manager's words had slipped in favor of simply watching her plump, perfectly glossed lips move; from that one time she'd gone home with a woman from a Ni-chōme bar and wished desperately it had been more than just the one night.

None of those feelings had taken a _youkai_ to bring into her heart. None had needed magic to form.

For it wasn't a spell that she felt as she danced with her strange, beguiling guest.

No. This was something more.

Slowly, Miku raised her head to look Luka in the eye.

“You know, I think I know the final thing I'd like to ask.”

“Oh? Have you perhaps decided upon your third favor?”

Luka's voice was calm, perhaps even tired as she spoke. Yet still she returned Miku's gaze with confidence, with affection.

“I have,” Miku answered. Breaking away from the other woman, she went to her phone, stopped the music on it, then moved to the door to her balcony. “Come on. This way.”

Hesitantly, Luka did as instructed, following close behind Miku as they stepped out onto the small balcony. There they stood cramped together below the empty laundry rack, gazing up at the sky muffled by a lingering smog and the pollution of a hundred million lights below.

Keeping close to Miku, Luka looked up at the sky quizzically. She said nothing the whole time, as if she was content to wait—perhaps even just to be by Miku's side this mild evening.

“Tell me outright if you can't do this one,” Miku said. “Like, I'll understand. I'll just think of something else.”

“Please, just tell me, if you would,” Luka answered.

“Right.” Swallowing, Miku took Luka's hand—for her own confidence or for her guest's, she had no idea. “For my third favor... I ask you to show us the stars.”

It clearly shook the _youkai_ as much as Miku feared it might: her eyes went wide, her stance stiffened. She turned her gaze from the muted sky to her requester with surprise, even alarm.

“You... would have me wipe away the cacophony of light from this city?”

“Can you do it?” Miku grabbed her hand more tightly, more desperately. “I just... want a night like that with you. I don't know. A night with you as if we were out in nature. Away from the commotion, the crowds and everything else.”

“As though it were only the two of us?”

Luka seemed to relax at the thought. There was acceptance, even contentment in her expression instead—gentleness instead of mischief radiating from those blue eyes.

So Miku smiled as she answered.

“Yeah. As though it was just you and me.” She held Luka's hand tighter, wrapped her other palm around it. “Only the two of us, and the glowing heavens above.”

And somehow it was to Miku's surprise—yet she saw Luka nod, saw her turn to face the skies above on that balcony, face turned upward with strength and conviction.

“For such a goal,” she said, “then this much I can do.”

With a start, she broke her hand away from Miku's grasp and, steadying herself, raised a palm skyward. A breeze picked up, catching her coral-pink hair, sweeping its length behind her as she stared upwards.

She gave the slightest tilt of her hand—only a small, gentle motion, turning her palm inwards. And as the turn finished, she drew her fingers inward, the open palm closed into a fist.

Miku watched not in confusion, but in awe. The movement was just as elegant, as beautiful as the way Luka had danced just before.

But then she turned her eyes upward, too. Only to feel herself struck speechless.

Like fog being blown away by a strong wind, the miasma of smog and light pollution blanketing the sky began to melt away. As the haze dissipated, it left behind a single, glimmering pinhole in the greater sky beyond.

And the single point grew, and grew—the departing smog, darkness, haze of neon lights all continued to peel away from the sky above them, and the brilliant, pure dark of the night sky behind the veil began to break through.

And shining brightly against the deep shadow: an endless scattering of stars.

They glimmered like gems, like millions upon millions of silver coins cast out against a sea of perfect black. Already, the fog of the city's smoke and electric lights had disappeared completely from sight—all there was above was the shimmer, the twinkling of those celestial treasures, glowing and blinking in time with some majestic, unheard symphony from beyond.

They didn't shine just for Miku, of course. They were jewels in their own right, beautiful for simply being lights amid that vast stretch of perfect black.

Beautiful, indeed, for simply _being_.

And yet—in that moment, Miku couldn't help but feel that this magnificent view was a privilege reserved for Luka and her alone.

Luka stood still now, arms back at her sides. There were lines of exhaustion on her face, a faded light in her eyes. She even looked a little unsteady on her feet.

But none of that captured Miku's attention so well, so vividly, as the glowing, satisfied smile that graced Luka's lips.

Again, Miku took Luka's hand in her own. It was even warmer than the last time she'd held it—squeezed her back even more tenderly.

“You actually did it,” Miku said in sheer wonder.

“I must admit,” Luka said, “I'm a little surprised, myself.”

“Will they stay long?”

Smiling still, Luka shook her head. “Only for a few minutes, I'm afraid.”

The lights, blinking still from afar, holding to that mysterious rhythm as they faded in and out, glinted in the corners of Miku's eyes as she took in Luka's face glowing beneath the sheen of the heavens. Was that what the glow in her eyes reminded Miku of—the way the stars danced and shone, all those nights she stayed out in her grandmother's countryside cottage?

No, she realized. It was something else. Something far, _far_ closer to earth.

Yet it was something just as worth gazing up at.

She held Luka's hand tightly as she traced another hand up the other woman's arm, to her shoulder, her face.

“If it's just a few minutes,” Miku said, “I want to make them last.”

It wasn't so much that Miku closed the gap between them—no, it was more as if her body molded itself against Luka all on its own, as if gravity took a stronger hold on what little space kept them apart. Just like when they had danced, Miku caught a whiff of soft, subtle notes of citrus, sweet and inviting. There were those arms around Miku, soft and tender and caring.

“Are you fine with that?” Miku asked. Almost pleaded.

And her heart began racing as she saw Luka nod.

“For you, and you alone,” the strange, enchanting woman said, “I want this dearly.”

Her lips brushed against Miku's gently at first. But they came together firmly just after, as that force between them pulled at them with a sudden ferocity—and the sweet, enrapturing scent of oranges that before only tantalized Miku now enveloped her, swept her away to those heavens where the stars shone so splendidly, so far outside the bounds of convention.

And their taste—the taste of those lips was so much sweeter.

How many miles her heart had run in her chest before they pulled away, Miku had no clue. But all trace of disappointment vanished as she again saw Luka's smiling face before her, cast in the gentle light of those far-off stars.

But, in Miku's embrace, the other woman faltered slightly. She fell, if only a little, legs buckling from under her.

In a panic, Miku immediately helped her back to her feet.

“Whoa, you all right?”

What was it—too much drink? Too much moving around? Immediately, guilt sank down inside Miku like an iron weight.

Luka's eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open. Still she smiled gently, sweetly.

“I'm all right,” she answered. She stood back up in full, but still her legs quivered. “That last... simply took much from me.”

So, it had been her fault after all, Miku thought with remorse.

Nodding, she slid open the door. “Maybe we should just get back inside, huh?”

Arms draped over one another's shoulders, they stumbled inside to collapse on the sofa. Luka’s warmth enveloped Miku as they snuggled together on the couch, as the stale air of the apartment replaced the flowing wind of the balcony.

She could feel Luka's shoulders rise and fall with her breath as she lay there against her. Already it was moving slower, slower—lapsing into a quiet, contented calm. The rhythm soothed Miku, rocked her like a leaf tickled by a gentle oncoming breeze.

Before she knew it, she let out a massive, jaw-stretching yawn.

“Sorry,” she said. “I, uh, might be getting a little sleepy.”

“It's fine,” Luka murmured. Her voice was smooth, wonderfully musical in that low, tired whisper, and sent shivers coursing through Miku as it swept over her.

“You... want to head out?”

She heard a yawn from beside her—from Luka, emanating up from a chest that swelled with a sudden rush of exhaustion.

“Where would I go?” Luka asked.

“Well, y'know. Home.”

Against her own words—against her own reason—Miku found she couldn't pull away from that that force of gravity that pulled her closer and closer to Luka. She nuzzled her cheek against Luka's shoulder again, then let her head slip down onto Luka's chest. And as she nestled into place there, Luka let out a soft giggle.

“How odd,” Luka said. “I feel... yes, I feel quite as if where I am now is 'home.'”

A thud inside her—there went the racing in Miku's chest; a sudden raging contrast to the gentle motion of Luka’s steady breathing.

“You really think so?” Miku asked with a nervous chuckle. “You only spent one night here.”

“Perhaps,” Luka replied, “it's one of those things one just _feels_.”

Fighting to keep her eyes open, Miku gave a little gasp. Not out of fear—just the surprise at hearing Luka’s words mirror her own thoughts.

“I guess it is,” she replied.

She laughed a little again, hoping it would keep the understanding in the air afloat, that Luka would join in with that soft, musical voice of hers.

And so it was almost a disappointment as she heard nothing in reply—no words, no laughter. Just quiet beneath the faint buzzing of the overhead lights.

The sheer stillness lingered, on and on, until Miku heard the faint, steady rhythm of Luka's breath, now settled into the rise and fall of sleep.

She glanced upward. Sure enough, the other woman's eyes had fallen shut, coral-pink hair cascading haphazardly over her peaceful face.

It was Miku's cue to get up, she knew. Her most obvious sign possible to slip away to her own bed. To let her guest at least sleep in peace, especially since Luka apparently felt most at ease here.

She told her legs to move, her waist to bend. Neither obeyed. Much as she struggled, she found herself still locked against the soft form of her companion.

And all at once Miku felt her own eyelids grow too heavy to keep from shutting.

How odd—this was one wish she hadn't made.

Yet it was the best one of all.

She felt herself sink back against Luka's breast, drift slowly off into slumber.

As if on its own, her hand slipped behind Luka's back—and in those last moments of consciousness, somehow, Miku swore she felt her fingertips brush against the soft comfort of a fox's tail.

* * *

The sunlight streaming onto Miku's face had surely lingered there for hours before it forced her eyelids to open. She groaned, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand as she blinked at the troublesome glare. There was a slight pounding in her head—a bit of a hangover, clearly. A light one, at the very least.

She looked over at her bedside clock. Just a little before 10. She rolled back over and groaned again. It wasn't that awful, as far as sleeping in on her day off went, but it was still late enough to leave her unhappy at spending such a large chunk of the day in bed.

It would do her good to get some breakfast, some tea. Hydrate a little. She swallowed, and realized her throat felt as if she'd been gargling sand for the past eight hours.

Yes—hydrating would do her good.

But again, she sank back into bed. Maybe in a few more minutes. The mattress under her was just too inviting still. The sheets over her had too strong of a hold.

She knew it was asking for the worst, but she rolled over, seeking out that warmth, that calming rise and fall of breath she'd nestled against the other night. Sure, once she found it, she probably wouldn't get out of bed for hours more. But, _god_ , if she wasn't craving it right now.

Her hand reached out; she fumbled around on the mattress, palming the soft cushioning.

Why was there nothing there? Nothing at all?

...Wasn't Luka supposed to be beside her?

With a start, she jumped straight up out of bed. Except—no, this was all wrong. What was she doing in bed at all? She'd been on the couch when she fell asleep last night, surely.

But all around her—the bedside clock, the mattress, the sheets—none of them should have been within arm's reach. She should have still been on the sofa. Shouldn't she?

She should have still been snuggled up against the woman she'd spent that magical evening with.

Not bothering the make the bed, Miku raced out of the bedroom and into the living room. It looked the same as always, just as plain and barely organized—save for the empty bottle of plum wine left on the coffee table.

But Miku barely noticed all that. She was too focused instead on the empty sofa.

She had half a compulsion to try searching behind the couch, under it, even to tear it apart in a desperate search. But she knew all that would be pointless—she just stood there, staring at the empty room, trying to fight off her growing sense of confusion.

The lingering mess in front of her, small as it was, finally compelled her into motion again. She stepped forward, picked up the empty bottle and the lone cup left out on the table. The latter she set aside unceremoniously at the bottom of her sink; the former she tossed with even less care into her bin for glass recyclables. Hadn't there been a second glass around, anyway? She did notice one drying with the other dishes—but who could say when that had been left there?

There was still a slight pounding in Miku's head as she shuffled over to the empty couch and collapsed onto it. Even from there, she could see enough of the bathroom through its open door to tell it was just as deserted as the rest of her apartment.

She slumped forward, head in hands. Had Luka just up and left without telling her? It was in character, for sure.

Or... what if it had all just been a dream?

The thought dismayed her. But still it clung to her mind like a stubborn tick: surely, that made more sense than any other explanation. All those fantastic things she'd seen—the dances, the conjured rice, the stars shining through Tokyo's veil of lights—no, they just weren't _possible_. They simply didn’t happen in this day and age, no matter how much Miku longed for them to be.

Just like a gorgeous, enrapturing woman stepping through Miku's door and holding her through the night.

She swallowed, already feeling the salt stinging her eyes. But she rubbed them furiously—no, not now. Not over this. So what if Rin was no doubt doing fine with her endless mixers? So what if something like that hadn't worked for Miku herself?

At least she'd had that dream at all, she thought wistfully.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, something caught her attention: a small, pale square, reflecting the light from the balcony windows up onto the living room ceiling. It lay in the entryway, right beside the front door.

Hesitantly, Miku stood and went over to pick it up, not even bothering to slip into shoes for the entryway. She took it in hand: an envelope. A plain one, unsealed.

It wasn't from her apartment—she didn't have any envelopes in her home at all. When was the last time she'd had to actually _mail_ something?

She held her breath and flipped open the envelope's flap. From inside, she pulled a sheet of paper—just as plain as the envelope.

On the paper, written in old-fashioned, hard-to-decipher script worthy of a calligraphy class, was a note:

_Dearest Miku,_

_I have only the deepest regrets for slipping out without so much as a word of proper farewell. For this, I hope it will do to write my humblest apologies here._

Miku’s hands trembled as she struggled through the first couple lines. But still, she read on.

 _What I had failed to explain to you is that a_ kitsune's _power, like any force on earth, is but limited. For as lovely as our evening was, I am afraid it left me in such a state that sleep alone could not avail._

_It was thus necessary of me to make my departure to a place where I might regain myself. As time was of the essence, I had no way to give you your deserved farewell. Once again, I hope you will accept my deepest apologies for this transgression._

_If you could do me the kindness of granting forgiveness, I can again promise kindness in return; yet, this time, I wish to put no limit on the number of favors you might ask of me._

_My reason for this is simple: I no longer wish to see our relationship as one of transactions. I would rather we found something far more natural._

Miku could barely breathe as she read the final line:

_Yours,_

_Luka_

_Her_ name. There it was, written in actual ink.

Miku felt her chest swell with joy. So, it had all been real after all: the beautiful evening, the laughter, the conversation, that kiss, _all_ of it.

Perhaps she had been beguiled all the same. Yes, Miku thought—perhaps, even with how real it had all been, she had nevertheless still been entranced by some fantastic and overwhelmingly powerful spell.

Yet it was a trance she knew she didn't need to have lifted. Because, as long as it kept making her pulse race, kept stealing her breath away, that spell would be just as real as the buzz of alcohol or the glow of the stars in the sky.

As Miku pulled the last letter out from the envelope, though, a faint sound caught her attention: a gentle sound of paper scraping against something thin and delicate.

Carefully, she reached inside, and her fingertips grazed along a small, ridged object. As she drew it out, a smile lit up her face as she saw what was in her hand.

A fresh, bright green leaf.

Joy overwhelmed her as she let the letter fall to the floor and clutched the little green token close to her pounding chest. It was all true, after all—yet it hadn't come to an end quite yet.

Unlike the fairy tales, it seemed the _youkai_ didn't have to leave Miku behind for her to find her happy ending.

Humming festival tunes to herself, Miku set the leaf on her dresser and went about making some rice for a few handmade _onigiri._

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thanks as always to Can't Catch Rabbit for her support during the drafting process of this piece and for her thorough editing of the chapter.
> 
> This piece is being submitted as part of the 2020 Negitoro Summer Smash, adapted from a prompt from Dakimomoe. It will consist of three total chapters, to be completed over the course of this coming week.


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